


the 1

by JustAKilljoy



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Break Up, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, M/M, Post-Break Up, Post-High School, That is all, and be gay be sad, just hurt and then comfort, no actual plot, tHANK U, very self indulgent with no reason to be in existence honestly but whatever, yamaguchi works at a convenient store
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:13:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27767293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustAKilljoy/pseuds/JustAKilljoy
Summary: the 1 - tsukkiyamaTheir relationship falls apart, at some point, and Yamaguchi moves to Tokyo alone.Legally obligated to call this a songfic (the 1, taylor swift) but in reality the lyrics are more like line breaks and just vibes. Enjoy <3
Relationships: Shimizu Kiyoko/Yachi Hitoka, Tsukishima Kei/Yamaguchi Tadashi
Comments: 1
Kudos: 14





	the 1

_ I’m doing good, I’m on some new shit _

_ Been saying “yes” instead of “no” _

The Tokyo sky is dark at 4 pm, something he’s never seen back in Miyagi, any little crumbs of sunlight swept away by deeply violet storm clouds that seem almost black against the city skyline. It’s the little things, Yamaguchi notes, that make the storm just a little more terrifying—flags and flyers flapping wildly in the wind, the orange glow of the streetlights far too early in the day, and the hushed atmosphere blanketing the crowd at the crosswalk he’s standing at.

He looks worryingly at the pedestrian signal—he’s pretty sure that if he’s not at the bus stop in a couple minutes, he’ll be late for his evening job. It’s happened once before, and his manager was incredibly disappointed. He doesn’t want a repeat of that.

Like a flock of pigeons, the people crowded at the crosswalk take flight the moment the light turns green, and Yamaguchi, following the receding tide of people, walks across the street, the sting of the wind barely noticeable amidst the sea of arms and legs and thick coats.

_ I thought I saw you at the bus stop, I didn’t though _

The bus stop is sparsely populated, just enough people that Yamaguchi hesitates to make his way under the shelter. But the sky isn’t letting up—the clouds are swelling furiously, and Yamaguchi’s sure it’s going to start pouring at some point, so he slides under the cover of the bus stop, and breathes for a moment, the smell of rain crowding his nostrils.

There’s a man, Yamaguchi notices, right outside the bus stop to left of him, with a head of blond, a color so achingly familiar that his heart catches in his throat painfully. He looks away. 

There’s a French phrase his professor had taught him once. " _ Entre deux cœurs qui s’aiment, nul besoin de paroles _ ”—two hearts in love need no words. Desbordes-Valmor.

But between him and Tsukki, there were too many words—annoyance, anger, frustration, misunderstanding, and what he thought was love began to settle like cement in his lungs, heavy and unforgiving. They’d broken up shortly after. Logically, he knows it’s for the better, but he’s never been the best at letting go.

_ I hit the ground running each night _

_ I hit the Sunday matinée _

_ You know the greatest films of all time were never made _

It had been a conflict of interest. Their break up.

That’s putting it mildly.

Yamaguchi sits down at a window seat—the bus is surprisingly empty for the day, but it’s probably because of the storm. The window fogs over, and he draws a smiley face in the condensation and watches as the water slips down the window. 

He wanted to come to Tokyo and study French literature back when they were still together. They’d been talking about plans for the future—where they’d live, and how. Tsukki wanted an average life. Nine-to-five job, come home to dinner ready, and they’d both be happy. But Yamaguchi wanted to get his degree, and Tsukki didn’t want to move.

It was weird that they’d come such a long way only for Yamaguchi to realize that he wasn’t happy with Tsukki—he listened to his every command, and did what he needed to do so Tsukki would be happy, but sometime along they way, he’d forgotten what made _him_ happy, and it was his unhappiness that ended their relationship. Tsukki had suggested they break up. Yamaguchi said yes.

So, he moved to Tokyo alone. He’s never quite gotten used to an empty apartment, and the movie theater feels a lot bigger when he’s going there alone, but it’s nice enough. He’ll manage. And if anything, the Tokyo streets at night are magical—flashing lights, crowds of people, and sometimes, after his evening shift at the konbini is over, he goes with his friend Yachi who he’d met at University of Tokyo and they pick a nice street vendor and sit there for a while. 

But still, it’s weird. His blankets are awfully cold at night, and sometimes when he’s alone in a crowd he reaches for a hand that’s no longer there. And when he has to make a tough decision there’s no one to turn to, and sometimes he really, really misses Tsukki, to the point where his chest hurts and he has to lay down for a little while. 

Maybe it’s not healthy for him to be hung up over their relationship for so long, but it’s a reflex at this point—what could they have been? What would it have been like if they’d moved to Tokyo together, and rented an apartment just big enough for the two of them? Would they have eaten out at the place across Tokyo University every Tuesday, and gone to the movies every Friday? Would Tsukki have met him in the library when he was busy and rolled his eyes at Yamaguchi’s horrible French pronunciations?

_ I guess you never know, never know _

Thunder rumbles like a disturbed engine for a moment, and moments later, the violet clouds finally dissolve in the form of raindrops. Yamaguchi hesitates on the last step of the bus for a moment—he didn’t bring an umbrella, and it’s still a few minutes of walking to get to the konbini. But he gets off anyways, bringing his schoolbag over his head to stave off some of the water.

It’s still nice, he thinks, to walk freely in the rain. If he wasn’t afraid of catching a cold, maybe he would have stayed a little longer.

His shoes and socks are soaked through by the time he’s finally through the doorway and putting on his uniform, as are his sweater and jeans. 

“Oh, dear, Yama-kun, do you want me to get you a towel?” his manager, Kuroba-ojiisan, asks in concern, and Yamaguchi nods gratefully, trying his hardest to warm up his fingers, wriggling them repeatedly.

“Yes please. Thank you!” he says warmly, and the sweet old man quickly disappears in the back of the shop. 

While he waits for Kuroba-ojiisan to return, he organizes the crooked magazines and the little cartons of gum. There are so many flavors—bright green packagings of watermelon and apple, dull vermilion mangoes and oranges—and he places them all gently in their respective boxes. The magazines aren’t particularly interesting, but he skims over their blocky and flashy titles anyways. His phone buzzes shortly after.

**From: Yachi : >>>>**

**_Yamayama!!! you’ll never guess who I saw!!!_ **

“Here, a towel, poor boy,” Kuroba-ojiisan says, hurrying over, and Yamaguchi pockets his phone momentarily before scrubbing the water out of his hair. His sweater and jeans are a lost cause at this point, so he just leaves them. They’ll dry sometime.

His phone buzzes twice.

**From: Yachi : >>>>**

**_it was Kuroo-kun!! from nekoma!! he remembered me :DDD_ **

**From: Yachi : >>>>**

**_we talked and he told me that tsukkibaka’s in tokyo right now >:((_ **

Yamaguchi pauses for a moment, wracking his brain for a reply.

**From: Yama :o**

**_What's he doing in Tokyo??_ **

**From: Yama :o**

**_Also, it’s very cool that you saw Kuroo-san!!_ **

Kuroba-ojiisan gently taps on his shoulder, and Yamaguchi looks up, embarrassed. He’s about to apologize when the manager shoves a bag of chips into his hands. 

“Yama-kun, I’m going to go take a break now. You make sure you eat so you don’t catch a cold,” he says kindly with an elderly smile, and before Yamaguchi can respond, Kuroba-ojiisan’s disappeared into the back of the store.

**From: Yachi : >>>>**

**_I don’t know what he’s doing in Tokyo!! but he said he wants to meet you and talk or something!! that’s what Kuroo-kun said at least!!!!!_ **

**From: Yachi : >>>>**

**_are you gonna go?????_ **

He knows he shouldn’t. He’s moved on. 

**From: Yama :o**

**_I guess I should go…_ **

**From: Yachi : >>>>**

**_Ok!! According to Kuroo-kun it’s the restaurant near the skytree !! Tomorrow for lunch!! But I’ll be sure to be nearby when you guys talk!!!!! I’ll hide in a bush or something :ppp we’ll see !!!_ **

**From: Yama :o**

**_Thank you :(_ **

_ And if you wanted me, you really should’ve showed _

The neighborhood the restaurant’s surrounded by is nicer than the one Yamaguchi lives in; the buildings are tall and glass, a million little squares of sky and reflections like art on their window panes, and the people are dressed in expensive coats and boots, crisp collared shirts and shiny leather shoes, or some mix of the two. Yamaguchi feels out of place in his sweater and jeans, but he tries to ignore it as he walks down the street.

Hopefully Tsukki won’t be dressed in something fancy. Not that he would mind if he was.

He misses him.

A little.

(A lot.)

“Welcome! A table for how many?” the waitress asks warmly him as he steps from humid after-storm air into the coolness of the air conditioned building. It’s a bit cold for him, so he shoves his hands in his pockets.

“Ah, I have a friend already waiting for me,” he replies. His voice shakes a little. The waitress dips her head and signals for him to head inside. He does.

The people are dressed in clothes fancier than ones he’s ever owned—and probably will ever own. His jean cuffs are muddy from the leftover sidewalk puddles between the buildings of Tokyo University, and doodles litter the canvas cloth. He looks out of place. He feels out of place.

When he glimpses a hint of blonde, it’s the same sinking feeling he had at the bus stop—a tightening lump in his throat, his stomach twisting into knots. He’s never been the most upfront or confrontational person, especially not in person, and if he’s being honest, he’s afraid of what’s going to happen. 

_ And if you never bleed, you're never gonna grow _

Tsukishima’s sitting in the back of the restaurant, a simple button-up shirt and slacks. Yamaguchi’s never seen him wear anything like it—usually, back in Miyagi, Tsukki would just wear shorts if it was hot out and sweats if it was cold. A tee if it was summer and a sweater if it was winter. It was always Yamaguchi in the jumpers and colorful clothes that made him feel happy.

But now, Yamaguchi feels terribly underdressed in his sweater and jeans. A feeling of something—maybe fear, maybe nostalgia, maybe something in between—creeps up his throat and clenches its fist around his esophagus. He chokes.

Tsukki sees him, finally, standing like an idiot in the middle of the restaurant. He waves Yamaguchi over.

Hesitantly, he complies, and then slides into the chair opposite to Tsukki, setting his schoolbag under the table right next to his feet. His pineapple keychain chimes loudly as it hits the leg of the table.

“Hi, Tsukki,” he says. Then, awkwardly, he laughs. “You finally changed your outfit up, huh? That’s good to see. We did a flip flop. Now I’m the one wearing the same thing every day.” He isn’t sure if the smile on his face is plastered there for his own sake or for Tsukki.

Tsukki laughs in return, the same gentle laugh Yamaguchi’s always heard, the one Tsukki’s always reserved for him, and it’s like whiskey in his lungs, a little more than warm, a slight fire. He relaxes, just a little. What was he thinking? They’d parted on friendly terms. They’re still friends, of sorts. Why was he so nervous before?

_ And it's alright now _

“We should order first,” Tsukki says, and Yamaguchi nods in agreement. He’s passed a menu. “I’ll pay,” Tsukki informs, and waves his hand over the glossy pages. “Get whatever you want.”

Yamaguchi shuts the menu, hands tight on the faux leather cover. “What? No, I can pay for myself, Tsukki, I—“

“Shut up. Just order,” Tsukishima interrupts, fingers pushing up his glasses just the way Yamaguchi’s seen him do it for years. It’s the little things, Yamaguchi thinks, that make him a little, little bit sad. “I asked you to come, so I’ll pay.” Yamaguchi hesitantly opens the menu again, and winces. The prices are too much for him. He couldn’t pay if he wanted to.

His eyes scan over the pages—there are Japanese and Western dishes. Immediately, he looks for French fries, which, at this point, is his comfort food. They offer fries. On the Japanese side, he settles a dish on the cheaper side—unagi nigiri, filling and simple. Then he folds the menu back up.

“Ready?” Tsukishima asks, and Yamaguchi nods. Their interactions are so casual, so normal, so fitting, that Yamaguchi, for a moment, forgets that they’ve ever broken up.

The waiter stops by and takes their orders. Once he’s gone, Tsukishima laughs.

“Soggy French fries again?”

Yamaguchi nods, a little embarrassed, but also so, so warm. Tsukki remembers his favorite food. He clenches his fingers in a fist to keep from smiling his stupid smile.

_ But we were something, don’t you think so? _

_ Roaring twenties, tossing pennies in the pool _

“So, Tsukki,” he says after they sit in silence for a moment. “Why did you call me here?”

Tsukki blinks for a moment, and he looks like he’s calculating a response, or maybe a thought.

“Ah,” Yamaguchi continues, and throws his hands up. “It’s not like I’m complaining or anything, I’ve really missed—I’ve really missed talking to you, we haven’t seen each other in a long time, you know. So it’s nice. It’s just, I’m sure you’ve called me here for a reason, right?”

Tsukki stops fiddling with his napkin—Yamaguchi doesn’t have to look to know he’s probably tearing the corners off, he’s seen it a hundred billion times—and then sighs. “Yeah, I did have something to say.”

But he doesn’t say anything after that, which is a first, because out of the two of them, Yamaguchi is by far the meeker one, and Tsukki, the blunter. Especially to Yamaguchi, he’s never held back—he’s always said what he wants to say. So watching him hesitate under the guise of silence is, well, new. And worrying. Yamaguchi wishes he could say anything to ease the tension in their silence, but it’s like his lips are glued together, so he just sits there and waits for their food to come.

“How’s school?” Tsukki asks, and Yamaguchi smiles nervously. It’s always been a touchy subject between the two of them, until the very end when they split up. But it reminds Yamaguchi of their earlier days—of walking home from school together, hand in hand, and they’d talk about all the annoying things and concepts they didn’t understand. It was a schoolyard romance, Yamaguchi thinks, looking back on it, but it was so, so sweet.

“It’s been nice,” he says, and pauses, unsure of what to say. “I like my professors. And my friends. And it’s fun.”

Tsukki nods like a stranger. “That’s good to hear.”

They sink back into the silence, and Yamaguchi’s insides twist. It’s uncomfortable sitting with the one you used to love the most, in silence, feeling out of place and alienated—it’s a strange thing, the feeling, and he definitely doesn’t like it.

“So what are you doing recently?” Yamaguchi blurts, and Tsukishima shrugs.

“I got a job in Tokyo,” he says, and suddenly, Yamaguchi doesn’t know how to react. “I’m on a lunch break right now.”

“Oh,” Yamaguchi replies dumbly. “Congrats!”

(But secretly, he’s wondering—what does this mean for them?)

(Will they get to love each other again?)

(Like they used to?)

_ And if my wishes came true _

_ It would’ve been you _

“That’s why I called you here,” Tsukishima says. Yamaguchi’s insides are fluttering, like leaves, and Tsukki is a wind that threads through every fiber of his insides. “We should talk about our relationship.” 

(Date me again, Tsukki?)

(We can live in my apartment—actually, no, I’m sure yours is bigger, I’m a broke college student.)

(But wouldn’t it be nice if we could do this thing called love again?)

“We should,” Yamaguchi replies, and takes a fry. It isn’t soggy yet, but he’s craving salt, something strong enough for him to focus a little less on Tsukki and a little more on their current situation. It’s crunchy and hot on the inside, and Yamaguchi takes two, then three more fries before finding the courage to look back up at Tsukishima.

“I think,” Tsukishima starts, and Yamaguchi stares in anticipation.

Logically, he knows he shouldn’t date Tsukki—Yamaguchi was the one who suggested they break up, the one who moved to Tokyo, who told Tsukki he wasn’t happy with him. And those things were true. And even though Tokyo’s been lonely, he’s been holding okay, doing what he wants to do. It’s been pretty okay without always thinking for someone else before thinking for himself. It’s not something he hates. 

But he’s known Tsukki forever. They were babies, then preschoolers, then middle schoolers, then high schoolers, and then moving in together, and all throughout those twenty years, he’s always loved Tsukki, even if they’ve had their ups and downs. A part of him craves normalcy. Tsukishima is his normal.

“I think we should go our separate ways, for once and for all. I don’t want to date you again.”

A deep breath in.

A deep breath out.

And then all of a sudden, Yamaguchi feels like a cup of china dropped on his head—the more he tries to piece himself back together, the more the tiny tiny shards are falling out from his fingers, and the more he tries, the worse he’s doing. He makes a noise at the back of his throat, small, strangled, and his lips part, as if he’s waiting for the words to come out of his throat, but there’s nothing. He’s choking on air.

“Don’t take it personal,” Tsukishima says, but there’s something in his voice that sounds so plastic. “It’s not you. I just don’t think we’d fit together well.”

“Oh,” he says in a small voice, and all of a sudden his throat closes up. He looks down for a moment to find hot, fat teardrops sliding down his nose and onto his jeans. It’s one deep breath, and then two—he shouldn’t cry over this. He’s better than that. He wipes his tears on his sleeve. 

_ In my defense I have none _

_ For never leaving well enough alone _

“You dedicate too much of yourself to other people,” Tsukishima says after a moment of silence. Yamaguchi’s cold fries taste like salt and saliva.

“I know, Tsukki. I’m sorry,” he mumbles, and Tsukishima clicks his tongue in distaste.

“That’s what I mean, Yama,” he says. “I think—I think I’m looking for a partner who’s willing to be independent. Not someone who’s always groveling at my feet.”

“I’m sorry, Tsukki.”

“Stop fucking saying that.

“Okay,” he says quietly, and then grabs another fry. He doesn’t have an appetite, but he shoves it into his mouth anyways, something to stave off the tears gathering in the corner of his eyes. He chews slowly, vision slowly blurring with the welling of tears, and stares at the floor until they’ve rolled down his cheeks. Tsukki doesn’t say anything.

“I’ll leave now, I’m sure your lunch break’s almost over anyways, and I don’t want to intrude,” Yamaguchi breathes, and stands up rapidly, grabbing his bag. Before he can look back, he walks with dizzy steps until he’s out of the air conditioned glossy floored building and onto the dirty concrete in humid air, gasping for breath, unsure of where he’s going—somewhere, he supposes, where Tsukishima isn’t. It’s a reeling feeling for sure, a feeling of free fall, a feeling where the tips of his fingers are numb and his head is light and he can’t get enough oxygen into his bruising lungs. 

It hurts.

_ But it would’ve been fun _

_ if you would've been the one _

He ends up at Yachi’s dorm room. When she sees him, it’s a whispered “oh, Yama,” and then she’s pulling him into a hug so fierce and warm that he melts onto her shoulder, tears soaking her green T-shirt until it’s several shades darker. She strokes his back until he’s out of tears to cry and then, at last, lets go.

“Go sit on the couch,” she orders, and gently pushes him until he’s sitting on soft cushions. Yamaguchi sits back and hugs his backpack tight. “I’ll go get some water for you, you need to drink some water. Actually, wash your face too, it’s bad for your skin. Go, shoo, go to the bathroom.”

Yamaguchi sets his backpack on the floor and stumbles to the bathroom, shutting the squeaky door behind him. Yachi’s bathroom is full of her personality—pink and teal towels hanging from her shower door, stickers on her mirror, bunnies printed on the cup she uses to brush her teeth. The cold water hits his face like an electric shock, and he scrubs furiously.

His eyes are swollen and red—they’re always swollen and red when he cries. He presses a cold towel to his eyelids, as if it’ll make them go away. They don’t, but the temporary relief is nice enough that he does it again.

There’s a knock on the door, tentative and gentle.

“Yama? You doing okay in there?”

He splashes water on his face one last time and takes a deep breath. “I’m okay, Yachi,” he calls, and then goes to open the door. He plasters a small smile on his face, but his lips are trembling, and all he really wants to do is cry. 

Yachi sits him down on the couch again, shoving a glass of water into his hands. “Drink, Yama. Then we can talk,” she says. “If you want."

_ I have this dream you're doing cool shit _

_ Having adventures on your own _

“Thank you,” Yamaguchi breathes, and downs all the water in three quick, desperate gulps. He didn’t realize he was so thirsty until the glass was empty. 

Yachi gently takes the glass from his hands, leaning over to set it down on the table. Her engagement ring beams in the fluorescent living room light. 

A part of him thinks of the promise ring Tsukki had once given to him, an envious green shade that sat on his pinky finger, as if it were Tsukki’s forever pinky-promise. The ring was still in Yamaguchi’s apartment; he’d never quite had the heart to throw it away, but it was still painful, now more than ever, to think about taking it out. 

He shakes the thoughts loose of his mental carousel—it’s no good, thinking like that, and besides, more than anything, he wants Yachi to be the happiest woman alive when she marries Kiyoko, and his own thoughts have no place in the situation. 

“Where’s Kiyoko-san?” Yamaguchi asks, and Yachi blinks for a moment, before grinning wistfully.

“She’s just moved to America, to get a masters. Since my mom’s side lives in America, I’ll probably go join her at some point,” she says excitedly. “Maybe we’ll get married there, who knows?”

“That’s amazing, Yacchan,” Yamaguchi breathes, and Yachi beams, nodding. 

And then, all of a sudden, it feels like the world is moving on without him. A wrangled sob forces its way up his throat, and Yamaguchi’s vision goes blurry.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for sticking with me y'all, I hope you enjoyed this no plot story !! might fuck around and do a songfic for the whole folklore album idk 
> 
> please leave a comment i am desperate for serotonin but also my twitter's @justakilljoyy if you ever want to come scream at me for any reason at all
> 
> but with that being said drink lots of water and stay safe :)


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